


Private Collection

by fictionforlife



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Blow Job, M/M, Oral Sex, Slash, Unbeta'ed, bad grammar, library porn, my first porn ever, unbritpick'd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-26
Updated: 2012-06-26
Packaged: 2017-11-20 09:21:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,323
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/583764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionforlife/pseuds/fictionforlife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Happy belated birthday bb, I’m writing you my first smut. Happy now? And yes, it’s more than 1000 words, deal with it.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Private Collection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wantstobelieve](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Wantstobelieve).



> Happy belated birthday bb, I’m writing you my first smut. Happy now? And yes, it’s more than 1000 words, deal with it.

“Why couldn’t you just look whatever it is you’re looking for on the internet?”

“Ancient books, John. Remember? Given the fact that these are extremely rare therefore expensive, highly unlikely they’ll find themselves casually excerpted online. Now shut up, I’m trying to think.”

Sherlock continues to scribble on his pocket moleskine on the table alternating with flipping the pages of a very old-looking book on his other hand.

John sighs, slumps in his chair and looks dead bored. He glances around him, a very huge, old yet well kept traditional sun-room with books on all of its four walls, save for the huge windows, from floor up to the ceiling. All the books seem to be as old as the one in Sherlock’s hand, if not older. Private collections in a private library. Must have been worth millions.

“Who did you say own this collection?”

“Reginald Musgrave- “ Sherlock automatically answers, but abruptly stops and glares at John. 

“John, do you mind? Stop asking questions, I’m working here.”

“You’ve been abusing that goddamn book for almost two hours!”

“It’s not my fault you got bored! Count the…books or something!”

John grits his teeth, thinking of some sharp retorts to throw at Sherlock, but withdraws the childish act immediately because he knows it wouldn’t help his mood at all. Sherlock would effortlessly spit more clever and prickly words back at him and he would end up worse than just being bored. He would be upset. So he slumps back in his chair and contemplates.

\---

“I think I’ve found a way to fend off my boredom.”

Sherlock rolls his eyes. “And why would I want to know that, John? I thought I told you to stop-“

“Because what I’m about to do involves you.”

“I’m working.”

“Oh, really? Didn’t notice.” Ignoring Sherlock’s eye-rolling, John cautiously adds, “You don’t have to do anything, you just sit, continue reading your goddamn book and scribble away".

John waits for a reaction, a dismissive manner or something from Sherlock. But Sherlock only narrows his eyes, fixed on John. He can tell that Sherlock is intrigued. Considering. Deciding. And Sherlock moves his gaze back to his book. Doesn’t mind. Doesn’t care. Oh but he will soon, John thinks.

Sherlock is turning a page when John snatches the pen from the top of the moleskine. John absentmindedly holds the pen in front of his nose, twists and turns it as if it was the first time he had ever seen a pen. Sherlock is furrowing his brow, obviously confused and internally saying what the hell, John? when John suddenly and deliberately drops the pen.

“Oops! I’ll get it!“

John vanishes ducking after throwing a smirk first and Sherlock trails him with his eyes when he feels his belt is tugged at. And there is John, under the table, between Sherlock’s legs, grinning, unbuckling Sherlock’s belt, undoing the button and unzipping the trousers in one swift, fluid motion, before Sherlock has any chance to protest.

“John!” Sherlock hisses, a fail attempt to stop John.

“You were working, Sherlock, Remember? Don’t mind me. I’m just overcoming my boredom here. “

John stares at the calm bulge under the black (probably silk, posh bastard.) pants and places a small, innocent but lingering kiss on it and he could feel Sherlock stiffens but doesn’t try to move away. John takes it as a welcoming invitation and kisses deeper this time, with occasional licking and sucking through the fabric. Sherlock shifts in his seat, apparently already go back to his book and trying hard to ignore the event that is taking place between his legs. Good luck trying, John thinks and realizes that Sherlock’s cock is already straining beautifully against the already damp black material. (Now what’s that thing you said about the mind controls the body, Sherlock?) John smiles, palms the tell-tale bulge fondly, slide his thumbs underneath the band of the black silk (most likely ridiculously expensive, like most of Sherlock’s belongings) and Sherlock lets out a low groan, a sound of approval to John’s ears. And John frees Sherlock from his constraint.

Sherlock is breathing hard despite his best (but miserably fail) attempt to stay focus on his book and even John can tell he is reading absolutely nothing on that page. John lowers his mouth to Sherlock’s straining erection, slide his fingers around the shaft and gently licks the crown. John thinks Sherlock is going to be vocal, so he takes a quick glance at the closed sun-room doors, but Sherlock ooesn’t let out but a tiny whimper, apparently refrains himself by biting the hell out of his own lip. His eyes are still fixed on the page. John is deeply amused but can’t help feeling a little disappointed in Sherlock’s admirable silence.

John licks the underside of the tip. It tastes hot and salty, and musky and John doesn’t mind. He’s not doing Sherlock a favor, he’s doing himself one. He is going to suck the world’s only consulting detective in a private library and the said detective doesn’t mind, seems to enjoy it, in fact, and that thought alone is mind-blowing. Sherlock rolls his hips, unconsciously thrusting his cock into John’s mouth. But John pulls back slightly and gives Sherlock the –uh-uh, not so fast, Sherlock-smirk. And Sherlock groans in annoyance, but his eyes are fixed on John now, book on hand abandoned. John doesn’t care, he continues on gently kissing and teasing the damp, hard flesh, and skillfully sneaks his hand into Sherlock’s too-tight white shirt to find that small, responsive, red protruding spot. And Sherlock gasps at the discovery, almost drops the book on hand.

“Ancient book, Sherlock.” John says with a tsk-tsk look from below and Sherlock glares in disbelief. Sherlock’s face is red. Lust is written all over it.

Sherlock is trying to suppress any sound escaping his throat, but John desperately wants to hear them. But he is back to focus, tightening his grip around the shaft on Sherlock’s cock and takes it to its full length. Sherlock moans, one hand tugging at John’s hair and the other still holds on to the book. John is encouraged by Sherlock’s reaction and moves his mouth fiercely and increasingly harder against Sherlock’s flesh, licking and sucking in between and extracts a series of low moans and silent curses from Sherlock’s slightly parted mouth. John can’t help but admire Sherlock’s determination to still firmly hold on to the book, as if it was the last representation of his mind-before-body-belief, after his own body has successfully betrayed him.

John rubs and circles his fingers on Sherlock’s nipple and pinches it lightly. It results in Sherlock tugs his hair harder to the point it almost hurt, but John carries on. Sherlock’s breath become erratic with John’s every suck. Sherlock is rocking his hips hard against John’s mouth, and John reciprocates. John can feel Sherlock’s movement becoming more uncontrolled, fast, and frantic and he knows Sherlock is close. John matches the pace and keeps on sucking, licking, at the crown, at the length, at everything his tounge and mouth can take until Sherlock almost tears John’s hair from his scalp, gives a violent spasm, chokes John’s name and orgasms into John’s mouth. In that bright as the sun sun-room, Sherlock Holmes sees stars.

John swallows, watches and is dazed. He can’t believe how gorgeous Sherlock looks. Head rolls back, face flushed, eyes tightly shut, lips part, panting and chanting John’s name. John can’t help but feeling a little smug. This is all his doing. He lazily props Sherlock’s member back into the pants and trousers. John then stands up with some difficulty, his knees are slightly trembling, leans up and his lips are greeted by welcoming, warm, plump lips.

“I assume you had your fun, John?” Sherlock smiles, fondly looking at John.

“On the contrary. It was rather tedious. I think I should do it again.”

“Oh no, no, John. Allow me.”


End file.
